


Jacob and Illia Go to a Waffle House

by WaldosAkimbo



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, M/M, Pancakes, Post-Movie: Pacific Rim: Uprising (2018)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-23 16:13:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17686772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaldosAkimbo/pseuds/WaldosAkimbo
Summary: Jacob taps on the glass and it’s Hermann who looks up, spots them, and waves. He says something quickly to Newt who looks up too and they can’t see much with the glasses, but he grins. He waves and touches Hermann’s elbow, beaming up at him. Jacob is too blind to the moment to tell if it’s painted on or not. Illia keeps his mouth shut. He’s good at that, he thinks, when really he is not. Not for mundane things or marine biology, but for Jacob? He’s good at it. When he needs to be. Illia shifts to follow Jacob out of the booth and over towards the door.The door isn’t even fully open before Jacob rushes in to hug the two gentlemen, babbling quickly about the drive and the weather and anything other than the years lost since they had last seen each other. Properly. No armed guards. No security passes. Just them. The Drs. Geiszler-Gottlieb stiffen for different reasons, before comfort thaws them and they ease their arms with varying levels of familiarity around Jacob’s body.





	Jacob and Illia Go to a Waffle House

**Author's Note:**

> Need some Jacob and Illia Geiszler in your life? Well...good! The pancakes are in there for free!

“Did he give you the right address?”

Illia leans over again, his hand hovering above Jacob’s phone, who jerks it out of the way. It is such a familiar gesture. One sibling playing keep away from another while they wait in the faux worn leather booth of the little diner. “Let me see,” Illia tries again, but Jacob elbows him, squinting through bifocals at the large letters on the screen—Illia helped him purchase it, yes, so that at least one of them have a phone over here, but he can work the damn thing.

“’Ey, bastard. I’ll drop it!” Decades shed instantly when Illia reaches again and gets a hand smacked to his chest, missing the round bearded face of his brother.

“It’s insured,” Illia insists and, finally, holds Jacob’s wrist still enough that they can both look at the text messages from their little Newt. “This one’s Alpine.”

“Yes.”

“But he said Cullver?”

“Yuh. That’s Cullver. Isn’t it?” Jacob adjusts his glasses again. “I don’t know, it’s the new location. He said they just opened this place.”

They lift their heads in unison and squint out the huge glass window they are seated next to, staring across the parking lot being baked in the midday sun. It’s marching hard into spring and all the snow has melted, but there’s still a little nip to the wind. It looks deceptively warm out there. To Jacob and Illia, it _is_ warm out there.

Another car pulls into the lot while they try to figure out the crossroad the diner sits at and they recognize the driver before they see the passenger.

“Oh!” Jacob smacks Illia again and he only grabs his brother’s hand, mindlessly squeezing it to keep him from flailing. “Hermann!”

“Dr. Gottlieb,” Illia teases.

“Bah, I’m not calling him that. He’s a Geiszler now.”

“You’re a Geezer,” Illia says and ducks his head out of the way.

“That doesn’t work when we’re _both_ geezers.”

“Ah.” Illia relaxes back. “I thought they hyphenated?”

“Eh, he’s still a Geiszler. You marry my son, you become my son. Those are the rules.”

“Yeah? And the law.”

“You know what I mean, La.”

“Shut _up_.”

Jacob stretches his long, thin neck up as high as it can go, rocking left and right in hopes of getting a better angle to spot them walking towards the entrance. It has been too long since they have seen their little Newt and the whole ride over Jacob had played music too loud, talked too fast, and checked his phone for any updates or cancellations like a nervous teenager, despite the fact that Illia was the one driving and needed directions. Illia still has Jacob’s hand trapped in his rough hand, something the three Geiszler men seem to share, and he squeezes it again.

“Oh!”

Jacob almost crawls into Illia’s lap when the Drs. Geiszler-Gottlieb approach. Hermann has his arm looped with Newt’s, who keeps his head on Hermann’s shoulder. They’ve dressed warmer than the weather demands, with a cardigan and heavy green coat for Hermann, long slacks, and dress shoes. They wonder if Hermann tried to wear a tie and if Newt had teased him about it and took it off for him. They wonder that Newt _doesn’t_ have a tie, but perhaps that little fashion statement has been retired. And he looks comfortable, for what it’s worth. He walks slower, and it’s not immediately obvious if they’re accommodating Hermann’s leg or if they’re doing it for Newt.

“He looks good,” Jacob says in a quiet, reserved voice, afraid to say anything too loud and break the illusion that Newt is just right there. Right on the other side of the glass!

“Thin,” Illia answers and notices Jacob’s little wilting flinch. He rubs his brother’s back. “No, he looks happy.”

Newt mostly looks happy. He has on a new leather jacket—it has to be new, right? It looks clean and no frayed edges, no worn patches over the lapel where Newt usually likes to rub his fingers when he’s nervous. And he is often nervous, isn’t he? He has dark sunglasses and a knitted hat pulled down over his ears, some of his hair sticking out over his forehead. No gloves, so nothing to hide their hands when they spot the dark metal bands mirrored on their left hands. Slightly loose jeans and—

“Ha! I got him those boots!” Jacob says excitedly, jumping up again.

They could just be new copies of old, old, _old_ boots, but Illia isn’t going to voice this thought.

Jacob taps on the glass and it’s Hermann who looks up, spots them, and waves. He says something quickly to Newt who looks up too and they can’t see much with the glasses, but he grins. He waves and touches Hermann’s elbow, beaming up at him. Jacob is too blind to the moment to tell if it’s painted on or not. Illia keeps his mouth shut. He’s good at that, he thinks, when really he is not. Not for mundane things or marine biology, but for Jacob? He’s good at it. When he needs to be. Illia shifts to follow Jacob out of the booth and over towards the door.

The door isn’t even fully open before Jacob rushes in to hug the two gentlemen, babbling quickly about the drive and the weather and anything other than the years lost since they had last seen each other. Properly. No armed guards. No security passes. Just them. The Drs. Geiszler-Gottlieb stiffen for different reasons, before comfort thaws them and they ease their arms with varying levels of familiarity around Jacob’s body.

“—and we were still trying to decide if this was the right one, but we’ve already got a booth and—”

“—Oh, I think that’ll be fine, Mr. Geiszler, we—”

“You call me Jacob or Dad, Hermann. At this point—”

“Right, sorry, I just—”

“—Newt?”

Newt pushes his face into Jacob’s chest, his cap slipping over the crown of his head and his glasses smashed into green and blue flannel, but neither of them break apart. They stand at almost exactly the same height, but Newt makes himself smaller for his father and Hermann keeps his hand on Newt’s back because when he almost slides away to give them space, Newt sniffles and unconsciously tilts towards him.

Illia smiles at Hermann and extends his hand. “Good to see you again.”

“Likewise,” Hermann answers as he awkwardly shifts his cane to hang off his elbow and shake Illia’s right hand with his left. They grin, share quick pleasant laughs and then Illia barrels into Jacob and Newt with a hug that can only best be described as bear-like.

They’re clogging the entrance.

Nobody seems to mind.

Hermann minds, but he says nothing as the three of them embrace for longer than necessary. Is there a longer than necessary? At the moment, that thought seems impossible.

“I’m sorry,” Newt croaks, his voice barely audible through clothes and bodies.

“No, none of that,” Jacob answers into Newt’s hair.

Though they do break apart and as they make space, Newt pushes under his sunglasses to wipe his eyes and Jacob pushes under his glasses to wipe his eyes and Illia claps Hermann on the back a bit too hard, seeming to knock the wind out of him before they head over towards the table.

Both Hermann and Jacob take the seats at the edge, so that Hermann can stretch his leg and so Jacob can get up and move when the mood strikes. Usually, Newt would be in the same position, but he’s tucked in next to Hermann with Illia close enough to reach out and grab his arm. Newt’s a bit stiff, a bit awkward, fixing his hair after he removes the knitted cap, removing his sunglasses and setting them on the table. He rubs his eyes too much.

“Is it too bright in here?” Jacob asks, like he’s going to spring up and do something about it.

“No, Dad,” Newt answers and twists half his face up into a smile. “My contacts are just so fucking dry.”

“Since when do you wear contacts?” It’s an innocent question, generally, but the moment it’s out, they’re all aware of the many months that lead to this reunion and Jacob quickly bats the air. They recall _LASIK_ and, even now, they see that slight color variation in his eyes from _something_ and they want to leap away from that memory. “No, it’s the weather. You know? Of course it is. It’s so dry. You haven’t had any rain in – look, I didn’t mean—”

“Dad.” Newt stretches up enough to reach across the table and takes Jacob’s hand. He squeezes it in the little pattern they’ve all practiced since little Newt was actually so very little. “It’s okay.”

A beat settles long enough for Hermann to clear his throat. “We actually haven’t had any rain in a while. It _is_ dry, Jacob. I hope we get something next week.”

“I fucking _hate_ the rain,” Newt grumbles, relaxing back against his husband’s side. “ _You_ hate the rain. Don’t wish that shit on us.”

“Our plants like it, _liebe_.”

“Ugh, _fine_.” Newt plays with the sugar packets for a moment, shuffling them like cumbersome playing cards before he looks up to see Jacob and Illia looking at him with overwhelming fondness. He rounds his shoulders up to his ears, smiling sheepishly at the table again. “What?”

“You look good,” Jacob says calmly.

“Yeah?” Their little Newt perks up in increments, playing with his overly-waxed hair. “You two…. Stroke my ego, why don’t you? It’s good to see you guys again. But, Dad, you need, like, seven stacks of pancakes.”

“What? Why?”

“I dunno. You look…thin.”

“I look fine.” Jacob sits back and pats his belly just as Illia laughs and leans forward. “I said the same about you.” He earns another swat to his arm by his brother.

“I’ve put on, like, ten pounds since last time!”

“And it looks very fetching on you,” Hermann answers before Newt can start to pout, already poking at his stomach through a very faded black shirt.

Through some divine intervention or perfect timing, their sever steps up to the table with a notepad in hand. She’s younger, with straight black hair tied immaculately at the nape of her neck. She smiles at them, handing over two more laminated menus and the cups of coffee that Jacob and Illia ordered earlier.

“And can I getcha anything, you two?” she asks, her voice lilting with a slight drawl along her vowels.

“Water,” Newt and Hermann answer in unison, their voices blending together. They chuckle, tilting back in towards each other, and Newt grabs Hermann’s hand on the table beside him, lacing their fingers.  
  
Their server smiles, scrawls something, and tucks her hands into the small of her back. “Well that sure is easy. And are y’all ready to order, or you need more time?”  
  
“You’d think, right, it’s IHOP. You know what you want from IHOP, you get it every time,” Newt starts, his voice growing distant as he distracts himself with the menu. “And then…how many times do you _actually_ go, because you might get it confused for Denny’s, right, so you—”

“We need a few more minutes,” Hermann says firmly. “Thank you.” He squeezes Newt’s hand to get him to shut his mouth. He does so, not offended, not beaten down, just trailing his eyes across the menu until something catches his attention and he zeroes in like a cat who has found their favorite toy.

“So,” Jacob says instead of letting them dip down until comfortable/uncomfortable silence. Like if their little Newt gets bored, sees how quiet and uninteresting his father and uncle are, he won’t want to see them anymore. It’s a stupid thought to have, but Jacob often has silly, stupid thoughts that Illia comes in and beats down with a stick. Newt keeps on reading and Hermann keeps a hold of his hand, turning his attention to his father-in-law.

“Yes,” he answers, sitting up straighter. “Sorry. How was your trip?”

“Oh, same old, same old,” Illia says.

“Your uncle is going to kill us one of these days,” says Jacob.

“So, same old, same old,” Illia answers and laughs.

The two have found an apartment up in Boston to be closer to Newt after his full recovery. They weren’t permitted to visit the PPDC site where Newt was kept during those first months, obviously, and even less time was spent face-timing Hermann as they prepped for their move to the States. No arguments, no questions. The two bachelor brothers packed up what they needed and followed, waiting and waiting for when they were permitted more time with Newt.

The wedding had been a small, quiet ceremony, with legal papers and one bottle of sparkling juice, which Newt couldn’t even drink, as he was battling a nasty little bug he’d picked up in the hospital. Nobody was happy about the solemnity of the ceremony, only happy for the fact that it was done, but Hermann took Jacob and Illia aside after the celebrations were over and Newt was back asleep to promise them he had it all planned out. A real celebration come next summer. Jacob demanded he get a chance to play for them. He rarely said anything so harshly and so resolutely, and the shorter man jutted his chin out in a way that made Hermann, at the time, start to tear up. Whatever they needed to help, Illia had said. He promised to help them and took Jacob back home to their apartment when their visitation hours were over, where they barely touched leftover stew and watched reruns of Godzilla movies in their little Newt’s honor.

The brothers still have their home back in Germany waiting for them, but it is becoming more and more comfortable to stay in the States. They know the area, finally. They can, technically, drive up to Newt’s home and have lunch or dinner or 2 am baking sessions—assuming Hermann doesn’t throw them all out to get his sleep. They are hoping to have more time with Newt if this lunch goes well. Jacob has no doubt it will go just fine and Illia already has the address from Hermann saved in his notebook of contacts for the next time they go for a drive and suddenly appear at Hermann and Newt’s house with a basket of baked goods. They just need the invite. They’ve done their time, they think. All of them have.

Time. Time passes the way it does, but they have to have something to occupy themselves. Illia keeps busy with tinkering and reading, of course, but Jacob has a nervousness about him that could just as easily break everything in their apartment if it isn’t channeled towards something he loves. Lucky them, there are a surprising number of beautiful grand pianos around the city that keep Jacob occupied, since he has decided he isn’t retired anymore. _Thank god,_ Illia thinks in his private thoughts.

Illia drives to the coast when he can, or through the city, and sometimes stays near the university that Hermann works at to get “Secret 3 pm Coffee” with him to discuss progress or work or family recipes even. More and more it is clear they have developed a real friendship and it is better that it can finally bleed over to the rest of the family. It is an interesting game they all play. Illia is glad for it, of course, but he is more glad for this lunch than he lets on, even as he sinks his weight into the cushions and props an arm along the back behind Newt, who is still doing his best to give Illia space. Poor boy. Illia pats Newt’s arm and keeps his hand there, getting warm on the leather jacket he refuses to take off.

“ _You_ drive like a _maniac_ ,” Jacob says more insistently, and the words hold an obvious old argument in them.

“Got us here on time,” Illia shoots back. “And in one piece.”

“Like a bat out of hell, La!”

“Shut _up_ ,” Illia says again, his arm squishing under Jacob’s persistent jabs.

“Well, good,” Newt says softly, barely peeking up and smiling at his father. “Uncle can get driving lessons from this one.” He forks his thumb at Hermann who dramatically rolls his eyes towards the ceiling, like he has no idea what Newt could possibly be talking about.

“Let me guess. Granny slow?”

“God, I _wish_ ,” Newt answers and barks out a laugh.

“Oh, you know it is perfectly safe how I drive.” And, true, when Hermann had pulled their BMW up into the lot, he had been slow, methodical, parking them very neatly in the lines. “I had those lessons when I was much younger. It’s not like I’ll be rally racing on the weekends.”

“Yeah, he’s had stunt driving lessons,” Newt says, pointing directly at his husband.

“I was young—”

“He thinks I-90 is the fucking Autobahn.”

“If only,” Hermann says, shouldering Newt and turning his head down as his sharp cheekbones start to go rosy.

“People would drive better if it was,” Illia answers and the two share a knowing look before they burst out in comfortable laughter.

“That’s it. We’re getting Uber cars from now on,” Jacob says, slapping the table with the palm of his hand.

“Uber cars,” Newt repeats, smiling to himself.

“That’s what they are,” Jacob says, defending his word choice. “Or the lifting cars.”

“Lifting…do you mean Lyft?”

“Lift. Lifting.” Jacob waves his hand and Newt laughs harder, spreading out a little more until his knee bumps Illia’s and he pats his uncle’s shoulder.

“Oh my god, Dad. You hear him?”

“Every day,” Illia answers, squinting his eyes shut in a pinched smile.

“What? I’m not wrong!”

The four of them are laughing freely, both at and with each other, by the time the server returns to get their breakfast order. Illia and Jacob decide to do crepes, sweet cream cheese and classic breakfast, with a side of bacon and toast. Hermann has decided eggs will do, and they have to have a little argument of what plate he wants, if he wants the Breakfast Sampler with too much food on it, the Split Decision to get sausage _and_ bacon, their little two-by-two-by-two or maybe an omelette or– and he finally settles on just eggs. Just. Eggs. Two of them. Over easy. Glass of water.

Illia and Jacob have silently agreed to share their food with the man, because nobody in their right mind can subsist on such a meager meal. They’re offended. They say nothing of the offense, so they don’t accidentally trigger something in Newt, who is finally last to order.

He starts rattling off flavors and toppings, building a monstrosity with cupcake batter, strawberries, bananas, Nutella, whip cream, cinnamon, and might as well include sprinkles for the cupcake batter, if they can help it. “Do you have raspberries? No, sorry, blueberries. Mmm. No, I don’t think I want blueberries.”

Hermann mutters something and Newt grins at him again, looking up at him like he’s hung the stars.

“Well,” the server says, frantically scribbling everything down. “And that should do it?”

“Yes,” the table answers, laughing with each other again.

“I can see little eight-year-old Newt getting that order,” Illia says, hovering his hand over the table to the approximate height Newt was at that age.

“Jealous?”

“No.” Illia crosses his arms and leans on his elbows, looking into his half-drained coffee. He sees an almost reflection back, and grins at it. “Because you will give me a bite.”

“ _I_ don’t want one,” Jacob says. “Too many flavors!”

“I wish they still had their red velvet batter,” Newt says, resting back against Hermann, who has brought his arm around Newt and is rubbing his husband’s chest. The two don’t seem to part from each other, not for long, and there could be something to be said about that, but they look happy. Like they take every moment they can when Hermann isn’t at work and Newt isn’t gardening or working in what sounds like a basement workshop. Nothing biological or molecular, he promises. For now.

And, to be fair, Jacob has spent so much of his life with his older brother now that he can’t say anything. He is only grateful it is happy smiles and laughter.

The conversations transform as they need to, from work, from home, from more recipes. _God_ , how Illia and Hermann can get stuck arguing about whether or not heavy cream is an appropriate addition or not, whether it should be rosemary or thyme – “Or both, Jesus! Simon and Garfunkel did—” Newt says and immediately gets his mouth covered as Hermann stretches his neck up to talk over the top of Newt’s head.

“I’m trying to grow some,” Hermann explains. “The rosemary is taking off.” He makes a horrified face as Newt licks his palm, quickly wiping his hand off on his cardigan.

“Dad, you gotta come by and check out these Japanese firework chrysanthemums we got in the greenhouse,” Newt says, and Jacob perks up, his fingers going white as he grips his coffee cup too hard.

“You’re an animal,” Hermann grumbles, the malice barely in his voice.

“And they can help us get the water feature set up like you wanted,” Newt pushes forward. “If you want, obviously. I wouldn’t, like, force you to help with that. I’m still doing calculations on the size of it.”

Illia takes Jacob’s hand before he breaks his cup.

“A pond?”

“If I could get a koi pond and keep them from dying, Uncle Illia, do you know how _awesome_ that would be?”

And there. There is the invite they were hoping for. Illia laughs gently, letting all his worries push out of him. Newt is inviting them into his home with his husband. For a visit, yes, but to help around the house. To help _them_. And he honestly can’t wait to take that chance.

“Of course. You’ll text Jacob whenever you want us to come by?” Why Illia doesn’t have his own cell, he’ll never tell. He likes it this way. He relies on emails when he needs to, which is exactly how he kept correspondence with Hermann. Perhaps his nephew gleaned a few things from Illia, same as he did his father.

“Oh, dude. I’m there, like, literally all day,” says Newt, like it’s no big deal. “You two should come whenever.”

“He’s serious about that,” Hermann says, glancing over at Jacob who has covered his mouth. “If it’s after nine pm, my only request is…Mr. Geiszler?”

“Hermann,” Jacob says, his voice breaking in the middle as he tries to compose himself. He takes a deep breath and laughs, but he’s already tearing up. “I’ve told you. It’s Jacob.”

Newt follows suit pretty quickly. “Dad,” he whispers, and his eyes are shiny enough that he has to wipe them hastily with the back of his hand. Illia grabs the two of them and yanks them closer, hugging them and kissing the top of their nearly-identical heads. He doesn’t even mind the faint chemical smell of Newt’s styled hair as they squish in closer, hugging him and hiding their faces until they feel ready to show them again.

“Ridiculous,” he teases gently, gripping their arms.

“I’m sorry,” Hermann says, folding his hands on the table and smiling sadly at them. “Of course, we should have invited you sooner.”

“None of that,” Jacob and Newt say at the same time and they share big, wet laughter between them. “Don’t copy me,” Jacob says.

“Don’t make it so easy,” Newt answers.

Hermann fidgets slightly, pressing his index fingers together. Either he is lucky or unlucky that Illia has a long reach, because he nabs Hermann’s shoulder and tugs him into the amorphous hug they have going on. Hermann makes a predictably undignified yelp, barely struggling to get loose. Illia just holds them together a little longer, long enough that Hermann goes still and Newt and Jacob have stopped sniffling, and lets them return to their respective spots.

“Softie,” Illia says, nudging Jacob’s shoulder. His brother barely punches him back.

It’s decided. Next Thursday, the two Geiszler brothers will be stopping by _die Hütte von Geiszler-Gottlieb_ around 3. Yes, Hermann will still be in town at work, but he trusts Jacob and Illia to look after Newt without saying such. Not that he thinks Newt needs a babysitter, but perhaps seeing the dish he has ordered has persuaded him to think otherwise. The plate clinks as it touches the table, their server setting everything down in the right order.

“I can feel myself getting hyperglycemic just looking at that,” Hermann comments, unfolding his napkin with his silverware and turning his plate three times as he tries to get the best degree of attack on his sad duo of eggs.

“Runs in the family, dude,” Newt answers conspiratorially and nods to his dad and uncle’s plates. Illia flips him off for dragging him in and Newt returns the gesture.

“Behave,” Jacob says gently, covering Illia’s hand as they dig into their meals.

Plenty of extra sharing goes on, as promised, with forks and plates making rotations between Jacob, Illia, and Newt like they are trying to find the proverbial pearl under the shells being shuffled at a roadside grifter stand. Conversation comes to a stall while they chew, Newt taking too big bites and getting cream on his chin, which Hermann helpfully wipes away and cleans off his own finger with his tongue. It’s less flirtatious and more an easy, natural gesture that the two have fallen into. Newt grins around his food, bumping Hermann. They shouldn’t have worried about him starving, because he helps Newt with half his plate.

 _Liar,_ Illia thinks fondly, watching him indulge in his husband’s food. They get their glasses mixed up and nobody cares. They pick off each other’s plates and, again, nobody cares. It feels so comfortable, at least one of them thinks about crying every couple of minutes, but they shove the feeling down with another helping of food on the end of a fork.

The only possible fight shows up when the bill arrives, and Hermann tugs the receipt towards him with surprisingly strong fingers.

“Don’t you dare,” Jacob says, reaching across the table to put cash down.

“I won’t allow it,” Hermann answers smugly, reaching for his card. Newt almost takes it and Hermann slides his gaze down to his husband, who shrinks and giggles into Hermann’s shoulder, smearing some of the chocolate sauce from his chin into the cardigan. “Tch. Newton….”

Newt laughs again, dipping his napkin into water and dabbing at the spot, but Hermann starts to squawk, trying to get away as the cold water seeps through the fabric and reaches his skin.

“No, you’re making it worse. Detestable—”

“Two seconds, babe.”

The tiny fight is the perfect distraction and Illia snags the bill, tosses it to Jacob, who palms Hermann’s card. He puts down his cash, reaching for the server as she hurries by their table.

“No, wait!” Hermann looks up, his face crumpling. “Jacob, I was going—”

“You can have the next one,” Jacob says, even though they all know the same argument could go on forever. And maybe they’re glad that it’s an eternal argument about covering meals for each other because it means they all will go out together and spend time together. It knits them to another obligation to see them next week and try to out-polite each other again. It’s a good obligation, they decide. Cements the word “family” nicely into what this group truly is.

Jacob gives Hermann his card back as they gather up their jackets. “Thank you,” Hermann says too seriously, too relieved. Jacob realizes it’s more than the card, it’s that they got to meet up again, and Jacob hugs Hermann while Newt bugs Illia about his lack of a cell phone.

“Thank you, son.”

“Oh,” Hermann mutters quietly, barely a gasp. He curls around Jacob again, not for the last time, and rests his head for a moment. It’s so warm. He thinks he understands now why Newt likes this so much.

“Oh my god, they’re _not_ tracking you,” Newt is saying, sliding back to his spot next to Hermann. “Trust me.”

“I’m very interesting,” Illia says, holding Jacob’s jacket out for him. “I could be an international man of mystery. How do you know?”

“You don’t _have_ to get an iphone.”

“And I won’t!”

Newt laughs as he snakes his hand up Hermann’s chest, patting above his heart twice. “Ready, big guy?”

Hermann reaches up and puts Newt’s hat back on, sliding sunglasses into place. Newt is soft and pliant as Hermann takes care of him, and gets a quick kiss to his cheek. Newt thinks he’s the luckiest man in the world to have been through the apocalypse, _twice_ , and end up with this man who cares and loves him. He shares this sentiment by kissing Hermann’s ring finger and squeezing it in the pattern his father and uncle share. They all share, subconsciously or not.

“Thursday?” Jacob asks, lingering out in the sunlight while Illia swings their car keys.

“Yeah, Dad,” Newt answers. They turn and embrace again, clapping each other on the back. Newt shares another hug with Illia, too, and they stay in a little circle for a moment longer. “Okay. Okay, okay. Thursday.”

“Thursday,” Illia repeats. He swings the keys again as Hermann and Newt turn back towards their car. They stand there, watching Hermann and Newt get in, talking to each other, holding hands until Hermann slides his seat belt on and starts the car. They wave when Hermann and Newt wave and continue watching as Hermann pulls out of the spot. The tires don’t squeak, but Hermann does pull away from the diner parking lot much faster than either of them could imagine. And then traffic cuts through and they can’t pretend they can see their car anymore.

“Ready?” Illia asks, nudging his brother’s arm. Jacob sighs, nods at the pavement. “Bet you I can take three minutes off the commute back.”

“You better not!”

And he doesn’t. The pancakes sit too heavy in their stomach to drive like reckless fools. And, of course, they need to make it in one piece, so they can visit their little Newt on Thursday.


End file.
